Happy fourth. The American posse in the office managed to pull together a pretty astounding barbecue on our back balcony. Budweiser, Oscar Meyer hot dogs and watermelon were hunted down and found in odd corners of London and brought to bucolic Queen's Park to do more celebration for America's independence from our own host country. Ironic, no? But we had a great time sitting in the sunshine on a precious mild evening shooting the breeze. It could have been Nantucket or Fresno or Cincinnati with the ringing American voices and Budweiser beer. I spent the afternoon making potato salad (negotiating a lack of french mustard and dill pickles with suitable English replacements) in a steaming hot kitchen.



We talked about how living here has changed what some of us think of ourselves as Americans. It's easy to be critical -- moments on the Tube when you've heard and spotted the loud American tourists spritzing in their tourist gear trying to negotiated the proper pronounciation for Leicester Square and criticisng the food, the trains, the British, or the prices. You hide deeper into yourself hoping no one else realises your American and join the group sneering wishing they would get off, disappear, or at the very least shut up. It's easy to see the reflection of America across an international landscape and the truths that spotlight the stereotypes.



But it also fundamentally changed my critical view of America. I was a cynic in my own homeland painting wide strokes across people, ideas, and regions and not seeing were foundations were strong and were intentions were good. Having a place to have one's own identity mirrored back to one is a healthy, chilling thing. I can respect it more, especially as I'm fortunate enough to be away from it, but can also clearly see the good and bad bits of it I took inside of myself -- the belief in the individual, the centrist view of the world, the materialism. I'm still horrified about the death penalty, America's actions towards China and the backhanded condescension of the President. There is, however, a bit of me that grows in pride.